3/3

Peace. Peace unrivalled. Something so utterly precious to a (still) unconscious James Buchanan Barnes that he hadn't been present to miss. Nothing could beat this. Nothing could spoil it, his first morning home in five, long years, safe in the knowledge that his wife still loved him, still wanted him and was as relieved at the reunion as he. The blissful rapture, enveloped in soiled sheets and renewed devotion had effectively hit resume and that perfect morning set the precedent for forever.

Or that was the plan anyway.

As if rising to the challenge of disruption, a heavy, rumbling, croaking call (that he had only heard from afar before) shattered and corroded Bucky's peace. That ungodly noise, he sleepily pinpointed, sounded like it came from the chicken coop. In that vein, he knew exactly what had woken him. But why the Hell was it so close?

"Who owns that Goddamn rooster?"

From the darkness, someone as tranquilized but seemingly significantly more accustomed to the dawn disturbance, dozily but blissfully replied:

"You do, love."

That… That made no sense. Not in the sleep-clogged mind of the freshly restored James Buchanan Barnes. He turned the response over in his head, his eyes still shuttered to preserving darkness; despite the encroachment of scarlet on the horizon. This time, it did not foreshadow bloodshed or war, but ushered in another day in paradise. Eventually, he managed to fathom another contribution to the groggy conversation.

"When did I get a rooster?"

"About two years ago."

"Oh… Five years. Right."

"His name is Herbert. He's very sweet, he protects the girls. Or tries to."

"But… Isn't he like… Doesn't he try an'… Y'know…"

"No, love. He's too old. His libido is gone, which is why the people I got him from didn't want him anymore."

"Well… I'm gonna have a talk with him about this five-a.m. crap. Old man to old man."

Bucky woke again, later but he woke of his own accord. A strange treat to be sure, but strange all the same.

His morning routine, more often than not, usually began with Elsa gently calling and playfully serenading him. When that didn't work, shaking him. And when that didn't work, launching Cody's ball into the bed for the sheer force of a ginormous mutt to rouse him. When that didn't work and Bucky turned over and took the dog with him, waving his breakfast and coffee under his nose normally did the trick.

Now though, this morning, aside from an epic battle the day before, he could not distinguish it from any other day. Unlike his wife, who had endured five years without him, Bucky did not feel the disjointment of phantom time; like those five years had never happened at all.

Cody, the very embodiment of "Man's Best Friend" dozed but did not sleep as his father had; rather he kept a half-watch but remained close for the company and comfort. It felt like a Sunday morning, but a Sunday that saw Elsa whisked away to an emergency. When else, prior to his marriage, engagement, or cohabitation, could Bucky place just lying there in bed with his dog? The dog that, incidentally, did not arrive in his life until after the vet had? A Sunday emergency came the closest to what he experienced now.

But it was not a Sunday.

Adjusting to the living and waking realm, the process took a moment before he registered something on the bedside table; something he was not accustomed to seeing as such: His wife's travel mug.

It stayed with her throughout the day and Bucky tended to only see the inconsequential item in the morning when she made her tea to take with her in the jeep or when she washed it in the evening; on a Sunday, it did not see the outside of the cupboard.

Before he could question the strange placing (internally or aloud), the tented piece of paper beside it volunteered the answer.

Sweetheart, It read, but never specified if it meant to be for Bucky or Cody. Context would clarify.

I didn't want to wake you again this morning when I left-

Again? She woke me this morning?

Dearest Herbert did enough of that-

Oh. Right. Herb. Yeah, he did.

You were so exhausted, I left you to sleep, you badly needed it. Don't worry about the animals, I got them fed and out to graze before I left. The only things I didn't do were groom Mac and Sophie and collect the eggs, but I suspect you may want to do those yourself. Just watch Herbert, he doesn't know you yet. He will go for you, love-

Great, my own Goddamn rooster's gonna go for me. Wife? Yes. Lover? Yes. Vet and animal whisperer? Also yes. Of course, she provided a solution.

I've left a crust from my toast, take that and give it to him to peck at while you're collecting; he might not bother with your knees then. I'll show you how to deal with him when I get home, he's really very sweet once he gets to know you-

Yeah, but then I get my knees pecked before he does.

Don't forget, sweetheart, he's protecting the hens. As far as he knows, you're there to hurt them and he's going to do all he can to prevent that. Unless it's a crust of toast, in which case they're fair game!

Reading the joke in her voice and the tone she had probably intended it to be read in, perhaps he felt a strum of pining; Christ, if he felt that, he couldn't even begin to imagine how she had felt. Huffing a laugh, Bucky shifted in the open spaciousness of the (almost) empty bed; Cody's restful lump seemed to move with him. Embracing the gentle coolness of the freshly occupied patch of mattress and sheet, the ex-Winter Soldier propped his Vibranium elbow up on the pillow and kept reading.

I hope the travel mug keeps your coffee warm until you wake up-

Complete with curious crease of his forehead, he reached across and sure enough, the weight of the mug implied it was full. More to the point, it was still hot.

If I wrapped toast, it would have gotten soggy, so I just wrapped some breakfast cake instead-

Once more, reaching across to a thick, clingfilm-wrapped slab of breakfast cake proved fruitful; much to Bucky's enamoured joy. You're an angel. I love you so Goddamn much…

So, I hope that suffices. If not, there is plenty of food in the fridge, cupboard and more cake in the bread bin. Have an easy day, my love, you deserve it for everything you have done. Relax with Cody and I'll be home at lunchtime. I love you. Forever and always.

I love you too, baby. You've got no idea.

"Well, Codes." Flesh arm slung around his mutt's shoulder to manoeuvre that wet, black nose into his neck, Bucky checked the time and settled back against his pillow; ruffling his hand into Cody's chest. "We timed that pretty good. It's almost lunchtime."

It still came so natural to him, as it should have: Getting up, getting dressed (while sipping his heaven-sent coffee) and going about what constituted his normal day. To do that, however, he needed his boots.

"Shit, Codes, I hope she didn't throw 'em out. I'm gonna need-"

Mid-musing to the dog on the bed, the flow of Bucky's sentence trailed off. He had kicked himself the night before upon witnessing the pain in his wife's face at the mere mention of those lonely five years without him; more to the point, how she had coped during them. Did that mean she had cleansed the home of any unnecessary reminders? Donated his clothing and lesser possessions in a bid to minimize his hold on her life but also to make room for a new one? Or was that Bucky's own brand of paranoia?

It seemed to be the latter, for when the White Wolf actually opened the closet, his heart sank to find everything more or less as he'd left it. In actuality, his widow had been more dedicated to preserving memories than making new ones; if seeing his dog tags for the first time in seventy-eight years when she lost her nightshirt (his nightshirt) didn't prove that, nothing would. With that, he found his boots without effort; the same with his work clothes. But those weren't all he found.

As Bucky released his work shirt from a peg inside the closet door, something else, something heavier, came with it and landed on the floor with a dull thud. Supportive of the effort his Lioness had obviously put into making the closet tidy to in his absence, the ex-Winter Soldier bent to retrieve it, then stopped.

No. Freikin'. Way.

It couldn't be. But there it was. Sitting there, looking back at him. Right down to the clasp at the front.

His backpack. Definitely and absolutely unchanged since he saw it last in Bucharest.

How long had he sat there, leafing through the notebooks he had long been convinced he would never see again? Time seemed to slip from him because before he knew it, Cody, ears pricked began to whine. And that could only mean one thing.

Elsa couldn't resist stopping on her way home (even if it meant the few minutes she spent in the store were minutes stolen from her husband), the temptation to stock up on his favourite bits and pieces to welcome him back had been overpowering. And so, with one of her own quirky cotton shopping bags in each hand and one on her shoulder, the Lioness reclaimed the steps to home.

"A good thing I wasn't waiting for my kiss in the driveway." She chimed upon arrival, amusement punctuating her features to find him awestruck as he poured over the contents of the backpack; having absentmindedly gravitated towards the bed (and Cody) for comfort. Only then did her presence dawn on him.

"Sorry, baby…" He murmured, still unable to lift his eyes from the transcribed account of daily life in his regiment written by one of his platoon. He had been mentioned in the excerpt more than once and so marked it as important in the collection. "I just… Where'd you get this?"

"I bullied a CIA agent." Came the nonchalant reply from the kitchen as she found space for a multipack of his favourite crisps (chips) in the cupboard. "Threatened him with spilling dirty little secrets and a legal team I didn't have." Brow furrowed into that trademark (and adorable) Barnes Bewilderment, Bucky's head half-turned to the kitchen; just in time to see his wife stow the largest available tub of his preferred ice cream in the freezer drawer. Huh?

"An… Agent Ross? Name ring a bell?" Bucky's heart missed a beat and seemed to cling to the wall of his chest at the name.

"Ross?!" He repeated with a bite of incredulity; not unlike Ross himself had reacted upon discovering who Elsa had married. "The guy that had me chased into a corner in Romania?!" Odd coincidence in wording, love.

"The same." Elsa chirped, making room for beer in the fridge and setting a bottle of red on the counter to acclimatize. "I went to his office with Ramonda's blessing to drop as many Wakandan names as I liked and to do whatever it took to get my backpack back. And, I don't know if you know this, sweetheart, but Agent Ross and I have history- Not that kind of history." She intercepted, having watched his mouth drop to protest. "You see, when Killmonger took the throne from T'Challa, Agent Ross was here in Wakanda, while you were in cryostasis. So, naturally, as still a British citizen, I had to haul my arse back to Nigeria-"

"I… I know all this, doll. What does it have to do with Ross?!"

"I was getting to that. On my way out, I came upon Shuri, Ramonda, Ross and Nakia and tried to get them into the jeep to get them to safety in Nigeria. They refused." It seemed this connection had blown Bucky's mind as much as it had Ross'. "Had Killmonger gotten a hold of Ross, as an American, he would have made a similar example out him. Killing a citizen of either superpower would have sparked the war he was looking for. Thankfully, we got T'Challa back and the rest is history."

"You went to his office…?"

"Yes, love, I was in the States for-" In the heat of her recounting and the excitement in her triumph of getting one up on the CIA in her husband's memory (a goal for any widow), Elsa realized too late that she had said too much. Faltering at the deepened bewilderment, straying into pained confusion, the little vet decided that (despite the hurt) she was going to be better than Steve Rogers.

"Darling, there's something you need to see. I will explain it but-"

"Elsa." It was Bucky's turn to sideswipe, laying the current scrapbook aside and standing with an unshakeable intensity clouding his face as he focused on his wife; not unlike the night before when he swore never to leave her again. Judging by the drop in her bubbliness, he wouldn't like it. "What are you showing me?"

Elsa stepped past her husband with a small, preparing sigh; laying a hand on his arm as she did so. Had Bucky dug any deeper, he may have come across the large, old aluminium crate; inconsequential storage in any closet. Or is it? He would have known it not to be his and with the ancient, faded peeling sticker of an American flag, it was hardly going to be Elsa's. With effort, she manoeuvred obstructing items to clear a path enough to slide and drag the footlocker out into the open floor space of the hut.

Then… She stood back to let Bucky in for a closer look.

With the lid thrown open and its contents bared for all to see, Bucky knelt and began to carefully riffle through the numerous leather-bound albums, old newspapers, service medals, various documents but stopped when he came across some loose photos. Well… Not quite loose when they were bound in parcel string, but they stood out among the rest of the items for their apparent newness. As did the envelopes they sat atop of. The name and address (the handwriting unfamiliar, if a touch shakey) caught his eye which caused a hitch in his breath and a tremor in the hand that reached out to pick it up.

Dr. Elsa Barnes,

The Barnes Plot,

Ukulangazelela,

Birnin Zana,

Wakanda.

"Els…" Bucky breathed, the tremor spreading from his hand into his voice. "Baby, what is this?"

Elsa knew she had nothing to hide nor be ashamed of. In fact, she had taken a course of action that she was sure her husband would have wanted in contacting Frank straight away upon discovery of his survival. Still, she felt a gnawing of guilt for something she had no control of and had rectified to the best of her ability with due speed; the blame lay with Steve.

When the White Wolf received no answer, only regretful and despondent silence, he slid the letter (a random one) from its casing and began to read.

Elsa.

I got your package and the matron said if you send any more coffee, she's reporting you. To who, I don't know so I told her if she interferes with my mail, I'll be doing the reporting. She quietened down after that!

I can see why he loved it, the flavour is out of this world. And paired with those candy bars like you said? Hot damn, can't be beat.

I got your photos too and while every single one of them are beautiful and proof of how happy he was, I only had room for one more frame, so I picked the one of the night you two lovebirds got engaged. Like I said, I hadn't seen Buck since 1943 so to see those photos you sent and all the ones before, I'm not ashamed to admit I get a bit weepy from time to time if the mood catches me wrong. He deserved to be happy, he deserved to be loved and from the pictures alone, I know he was with you. That's something I'll always be grateful to you for. After everything he went through, he needed someone to show him that there's good left in the world and I know he found that in you, my dear.

Dinner's here, signing off, look forward to hearing from you soon,

Sgt. F.B.

Bucky turned the envelope over to replace the letter, his brain still fogged by questions. That is, until, he caught sight of the return address on the back.

Sgt. Frank Barnes,

Room 17,

Belvedere Senior Living,

5110 19th Ave.

Brooklyn, NY,

11204,

United States.

For the longest time, James stared at the address and in some corner of his mind, some of the more obscure fragments of the letter made sense.

"I didn't know Frank was still alive until a year after you were gone." Elsa imparted hesitantly, inching forward to place a comforting hand on her husband's shoulder; his own organic hand reaching back to meet it for physical contact. "But the second I found out, I started writing to him, sending him things. We bonded over you, how much we loved you. I did what I felt you would have wanted-"

"But why is this here?" Oh Christ…

"Frank… Frank passed away a few months ago, sweetheart." The little vet admitted softly and with all the sensitivity such a raw subject deserved. "I went to Brooklyn for his funeral."

Bewilderment and confusion melted away, only to be replaced by gut-wrenching grief. The letter fell almost weightlessly back into the trunk as Bucky turned on his knees and buried his face in his wife's stomach; both arms encircling her waist, clinging in desperation to his most trusted and adored source of comfort.

One jolting sob rippled her belly, then two, then three and then, she lost count.

"I'm so sorry, darling." Elsa choked, faltering, and infected by the emotions she thought she had buried. Bending slightly to wrap her arms around Bucky's brick-shithouse shoulders, the Lioness pressed a sniffled kiss to her husband's forehead, but his shuddering sobs continued. Could he be blamed? With all the emphasis he had placed on rebuilding his former self, or even just discovering who had been had dominated his purpose in Romania; piecing those tiny scraps together. Now, to learn there had been a living link to that James Buchanan Barnes in a Brooklyn nursing home this whole time… And only to miss him by a few months…

"I'm so, so sorry… I can't-"

"How…?"

Should I drop Steve in the shit? Why not?! It was his mess up!

"James, I'll tell you, but you must try and underst-"

"How…?"

Once more, Elsa hesitated; reluctance intensifying at the bite of insistence his pain-drenched tone had suddenly adopted. I'm not going to get away with dancing around this.

"Steve had been in contact with Frank for years." The little vet finally confessed, giving her beloved a squeeze in a bid to relieve his tension; all he did was stiffen. "A year or so after he came out of the ice. While you were still the Winter Soldier. He visited him regularly under the guise of his "grandnephew" because Frank had no children and I suppose, when you were found in Romania and sent to Wakanda, they agreed that concealing Frank from you was the best thing to do. I didn't agree-" She added, pre-empting his response, and freeing a hand to stroke it soothingly through his hair. "They were concerned with you turning up to the home and being arrested just to see Frank but, as I bluntly pointed out to Steve when he told me, we could have organized some video calls at the very least. Honestly, my love, how I didn't kill him then and there, I'll never know.

I don't doubt it, baby. You've always had my back.

"If it's any consolation…" She went on, loosening her hold to tilt herself back to check on him; instinct kicking in to stroke away the tears still snail-trailing down his cheek and getting lost in his beard. "When I started writing Frank, he realized it was a terrible mistake and regretted it immensely but thought he was doing right by you. He didn't want you captured for his sake, darling. He said he would have given anything to see you in the flesh just once." With another tender kiss landed on his forehead, James Buchanan Barnes inhaled into his stressed, aching lungs and coughed out the exhale.

"The letters are all there, you're more than welcome to go through them." She offered benevolently; dutifully ignoring the sob-soaked patch on her top that clung to her skin. "When you feel up to it, of course; it's a lot to take on all at once." Shuffling to her own knees, Elsa brought herself level with her precious partner and gifted him a soft, encouraging smile; tucking a strand behind his ear that had become stuck to his face by tears. "In the meantime, how about lunch? On me?"